Before relating this true story, the reader needs to know what I mean by a ‘minicab’. Long before Uber and similar companies began operating in London, minicabs came into existence. Despite their name, these cars are not usually small. They are, in effect, taxis that can be hired in advance by telephone, or, now, via the Internet, but not hailed on the street. Unlike regular taxis, whose fares are determined by a meter, minicab fares are usually agreed before the ride. Now for my story …

One evening some years ago, we wanted to travel from our home in Kensington to an address in northwest London. We hired a minicab from an office that used to exist near our home, but unusually we did not check the price before the journey.

The car had a radio/cassette player. I noticed that the music playing sounded as if it was popular music from Eastern Europe. I asked the driver about what was playing. He told me that it was music from Russia. I told him that I liked it.

After a few minutes, I asked him where he was from originally. He answered “Afghanistan”, but he said that he had lived in Russia for a few years before coming to London. He mentioned that he drove his minicab most evenings, and in the day time he ran his own shoe shop.

After about half an hour, we arrived at our destination, and parked outside their home. I said to the driver:

“How much do we owe you?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “You are my friend.”

“But, we must pay for the ride,” I said.

“No, nothing, my friend.”

Both my wife and I wondered what to do. We knew that the fare was usually £10. After about a minute, I had an idea. I turned to the drive, next to whom I was sitting, and, holding a £10 note, I said:

“Take this for your family. Buy your children a treat.”

He accepted the cash, and we bid him farewell.

After dinner, we rang the same minicab company, and ordered a cab to take us home. Once again, no fare was quoted. The driver of the cab who came to fetch us was also from Afghanistan. He was not as chatty as the first driver. When we reached our home, I asked him:

“What do we owe you?”

He answered:

“The same as you paid earlier.”

Now, as far as I am aware, he had no idea what we had paid earlier, but he was happy with the £10 I gave him.

These minicab trips occurred soon after I had finished reading an excellent book about Afghanistan, “An Unexpected Light” by Jason Elliot (published in 2007). In it, he described making purchases in rural Afghanistan. He wrote that prices are not displayed, and the purchaser must make an offer. If the offer is too low or to high, the customer gets laughed or otherwise subtly criticised. Remembering this, I felt that what both of our Afghan drivers were doing about the fare is what they would have done back in their country of origin, Afghanistan.